I felt a wind of Cornwall

in a Surrey rain shower

touch out of great distance

hot oregano

too far for breaker sounds

insouciant all day

is sensed in blind dark

sunk fallen hills

of warm tangled heather

in deep mid-Atlantic

tainting atmosphere

hurtling wobbly landward

often on its rock spit

I have been mid-continent

knowing I could stride to India,

or part way, dry foot

cliffs amputating

wounds crying, holes

in a whole liquefying

if Jesus came to Curnow

he went across ocean

no second flood

no paradise

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